Hell's Highway
by bardicfaerie
Summary: This is a case study story, therefore there is not much in the way of character development, knowledge of the show and characters would be helpful; the characters and show do not belong to me; I'm making no money out of this


The RCMP in British Columbia have spent the last 30 odd years looking into a series of murders and disappearances along the main highway running across the province. These missing and killed women are fact. So is the amount of suspects the RCMP have on file as persons of interest. The names of the victims in the story are mostly those of women the Mounties believe are all connected. There are a few I found that, while connected with Highway 16, are not believed to be part of the same investigation. No arrests, as far as I can tell, have been made in connection to any of the 32 women believed to have disappeared in the area.

Thanks to several wonderful women who helped me improve this story: lj-user=danikkos_realms, lj-user=dazzleberry, and lj-user=arwen_lalaith. Any mistakes still in the story are mine.

Prompts: Highway 16 killings, the Greyhound decapitation incident, and Terry Grant, Mantracker.

Hell's Highway

by lj-user=runriggers

_Highway 16, near Fraser Lake, British Columbia_

The morning air was crisp with the scent of snow. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer squinted against the glare of the sunlight reflecting off the snow on the ground, even through his sunglasses. He noted the gathering of clouds over the mountain peaks in the distance and pulled his parka closer as he walked over to the vehicle parked in front of him.

The driver rolled down his window, shivering as the cold air entered the vehicle.

"License and registration, please," the officer droned.

After going through the familiar actions of checking the driver's license and writing up a speeding ticket, Sergeant Jesse Winthrop stood by the hood of his squad car and watched the vehicle drive off. As he turned to open the car door, he caught sight of something in the snow lining the ditch. Walking closer, he noticed the snow had been trampled down into a path towards the trees and a large, dark object was lying near the tree line.

Some instinct he didn't question had him walking wide of the path until he could make out the object. He stared at it for a long moment before shaking his head and returning to the squad car to call it in.

_BAU, Quantico, Virginia_

Derek Morgan yawned as he poured a cup of coffee and stirred in some sugar.

"If you put any more sugar in that, you'll be as bad as Reid," Prentiss teased from behind him.

Morgan spared her a grin as he took a sip of coffee, then grimaced. Tossing the liquid down the sink, he poured another cup.

"Late night?" Was that a smirk in Prentiss' voice?

"Morgan, Prentiss, conference room," Hotch called from the top of the stairs.

As the agents assembled around the table, JJ clicked on the overhead screen and started talking, "I received a call from the police in Prince George, Canada. They discovered a body along Highway 16, near Fraser Lake. The victim has been identified as Rebecca Moreland, eighteen."

"Why are we being called in? Isn't this a case for the Canadians to deal with?" Rossi looked up at the petite blonde.

"Rebecca is from Seattle. According to her parents, she was on a skiing vacation in Banff – in the Canadian Rockies – and went missing last week. Plus, the RCMP remember our help in Ontario with the Mason Turner case and think we could help." JJ paused and clicked the remote, causing the screen to split into multiple images. "The RCMP are dealing with what they believe to be a serial killer who is dumping bodies along the section of Highway 16 that runs through British Columbia, from the Rocky Mountains to the coast. This section of the highway has been nicknamed the Highway of Tears due to the fact that since 1969, thirty-two women are believed to have been killed or have disappeared in this area."

"Why do I get the feeling that cases involving Canada are as bad as cases involving Florida?" Prentiss' voice was quiet.

"Well, thirty-two victims in forty years, that can't be any good. Don't they have any suspects?" Morgan flipped the pages of the file.

"They have over two thousand 'persons of interest' that they've been trying to narrow down," JJ replied.

"Two thousand!" Garcia's voice squeaked. She had been studiously ignoring the overhead screen.

JJ smiled at the analyst's reaction. "With another three thousand mentioned in the case files. From what I've been told they have an entire room devoted to evidence and files about this section of highway."

"And they've never been able to narrow it down?" Morgan frowned in disbelief.

"There was a person of interest whose property they searched a couple of years ago, but he's in prison at the moment." JJ turned back to the screen.

Hotch's voice was quiet. "Garcia, I'd like you to come with us. Accessing those files and the suspect list will be easier if you're at the source. You and Reid have a lot of files to go through when we get there." The unit chief's dry comment made Rossi smile. "Having you on hand will make sure we have all the information we need immediately. The first thing we need to do is narrow down that suspect list." He closed the file and stood up, staring around the table. "Wheels up in thirty, people."

_Enroute to Canada_

The team settled into their seats and clicked off their seatbelts as the plane banked right and levelled out on its flight toward Prince George.

Prentiss started the usual in-flight discussion, "The victims that the police think were assaulted by the same UnSub are all females, between the ages of fourteen and forty-four. The problem is, there's really no commonality among them, except the fact that they are female. Some were Native-American, some were Caucasian; they had a variety of occupations - some were prostitutes, some were students, teachers, even a tree planter. The only common theme is the highway. Some victims were stabbed while others were strangled. And some of these files - we don't know if the women are dead or still missing."

"That's quite rare. Most UnSubs target a specific age group in their crimes. The ages of the victims in this case don't seem to follow that." Reid was unusually concise.

JJ nodded. "The list of victims the RCMP have provided me starts with disappearances in 1969. Now, the first couple of cases do not have a lot of specifics, probably due to how old the files are, but the first one where we get some information is," she paused as she looked down, "Monica Ignas, fifteen. She was from Thornhill, Ontario; went missing December thirteenth, 1974, and her partially nude body was found four months later outside of Terrace, British Columbia. The next victims, Colleen MacMillan, Monica Jack, and Maureen Mosie were classified as homicides between 1974 and 1981. Shelly-Ann Bascu went missing from Hinton, Alberta in 1983."

Reid interrupted, "The next victim wasn't until 1989 and that was Albertan, Gail Williams who was twenty-seven. She was found near Prince Rupert," he consulted the map he had spread out on the table in front of him, "Which is on the coast."

"That would suggest the victims getting older as the unsub gets older." Prentiss mentioned, "But then, the next set of victims were all in their mid to late teens. Delphine Nikal was sixteen, Alishia Germaine, Roxanne Thiara, and Ramona Lisa Wilson were all fifteen, and Lana Derrick was nineteen. The first two went missing and their bodies were found in 1994, the other two in '95." She looked up. "But then the next victim was forty-four years old."

JJ cut in, "That's the substitute teacher, Wendy Ratte, right? There's a note on the files here that says that the RCMP don't think she is part of the investigation, but the next one they do suspect of being by the same UnSub is twenty-five years old, and that's Nicole Doreen Hoar. There's another victim in her twenties, Tamara Chipman; then he goes back to a teenager, Aielah Saric-Auger, fourteen."

Rossi let out an exasperated sigh. "This guy is all over the map. Why do the police think these victims are all related?"

JJ looked over. "They were all dumped along the highway."

"So, we have an UnSub who has been killing for forty years, but his kills are sporadic, which points to a disorganized killer," Prentiss summed up. "But there's no forensic evidence left at the dump site, which could point to someone who is organized."

"The dump site is the tertiary location; we have to find out where he's holding and killing his victims," Morgan countered. "That's more likely the place where we will find the evidence."

"Lack of forensic evidence could also indicate someone in law enforcement," Rossi joined in. "He could be inserting himself into the investigation if he's not. Do the RCMP have any suspects in their ranks or on the city police forces?"

"One question we'll have to ask them," Hotch noted.

"So, we're looking for someone who is more than likely in his late sixties to mid-seventies," Morgan continued.

Hotch nodded. "Morgan, Prentiss, I want you to meet up with Sgt. Winthrop, the officer who found Rebecca Moreland, at the latest crime scene. Reid, Garcia, you'll be narrowing down the suspect list by age and current status - whether they are still alive or are in prison, focus on suspects that were in the vicinity of all crime scenes. Rossi and I will start interviewing the suspects on that list after you've narrowed it down. Meanwhile, we'll look into Rebecca's life a bit more to see whether we can find out why she was targeted."

The jet touched down at the Prince George airport late in the afternoon. A police escort was waiting to lead the BAU team to police headquarters. At their arrival, the desk sergeant directed Hotch and Rossi to Inspector Carpenter's office while directing the others into a conference room.

The two agents stepped into Carpenter's office. The Inspector rose from his chair behind the desk, holding out his hand. "Carpenter, call me Cap, everyone does. You must be the FBI agents."

Hotch shook his hand. "Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner and this is SSA David Rossi." He continued after he had taken his seat, "You've been head of the task force for a couple of years now, correct?" At Cap's nod, he continued, "Why call in the FBI now?"

"Well, for one, the latest victim was American. For another we heard about your work in Sarnia, and lastly, honestly, we need fresh eyes on this. The RCMP have been looking at these cases for so long we can't see the words anymore." The man shifted uncomfortably. "And, I don't know whether the Canadian public has as much faith in the RCMP as they once did."

Hotch nodded. "Fair enough. My computer analyst and Doctor Reid will need access to your suspect list and the names of everyone who has been working on the cases."

Cap's eyebrows rose at that. "You think it's a member of the task force? I'll tell you now, there are several officers' names on there already as 'persons of interest', listed because they were the ones that initially worked the case or discovered the bodies." He waved his hand in the general direction of the evidence room.

Hotch sighed in silent relief. At least they were open to the idea that the UnSub could be in law enforcement. "Well, there is that possibility, of course, but we'd also like to talk to them about the cases; see what they remember, their impressions, that sort of thing."

"Does anyone on that list of officers stand out in your mind? Someone who has continued to show an interest in the investigation even if he isn't part of the task force any longer?" Rossi stared at Carpenter.

Carpenter thought for a moment. "I won't lie to you and say that all the officers are above board and perfect. I've been in this job for twenty-five years and I've heard of bent cops. But no cop likes to think that one of their comrades is dirty." He rose from his chair. "I'll get the list."

The three men walked out of the office. The desk sergeant indicated the room where the other members of the team were waiting.

"I understand you have a room full of evidence files?" Hotch questioned the sergeant. At the man's nod, Hotch continued, "We'll need access to that room and another room close to it where we can study the files."

As the man nodded again, Hotch poked his head into the conference room and motioned to the others to follow him.

JJ, Reid, and Garcia stared at the room stacked full of files, then exchanged glances. "I think we're going to need coffee," JJ remarked drily. "Why don't you set up next door, Garcia, and we'll get started?"

Garcia simply nodded and went to set up her laptop, making sure her connections worked and she could access the larger database she had back in Quantico, as well as databases within the police station. An RCMP officer came in while she worked and fussed about at a side table, setting up a coffee pot, mugs, and milk and sugar before leaving as silently as she had arrived, holding the door open as JJ entered the room with a box of files, followed by Reid carrying a second box.

"JJ, we can start narrowing down the suspect list by checking for birthdates and gender. We should start with male suspects whose birthdates would fall in the late 1930s and '40s." Reid thought for a moment. "We can look closer at those suspects."

While JJ started on the first box, Reid went back and forth a few more times, bringing in more boxes. The team members soon established a rhythm. JJ checked the files, focusing on the specifics Reid suggested, calling out the names and birthdates of the ones that fit, then Garcia went to work, looking for updated information. Suspects who were dead or had been in prison during one or more of the killings were put in a pile of discards, while another, smaller pile was started at Reid's elbow. Reid then went through those files applying the initial profile to the suspect to narrow done the pile further.

"Here's someone interesting," JJ commented, rotating her head to ease the ache in her neck. "Vincent Weiguang Li." She started to continue, but Garcia beat her to the information.

"Oh." Garcia looked up from the computer.

"What?" Reid stopped, his eyes wide as he stared at the tech.

"He was arrested for..." Garcia's voice faltered "...stabbing and decapitating a passenger on a Greyhound bus while travelling between Edmonton and Winnipeg."

"His victim?"

"Male. Doesn't look like he knew him either."

"Psychotic, yes, but none of these victims were decapitated, nor were they males. And our UnSub wouldn't kill so openly. We can eliminate him."

JJ nodded. "His birthdate doesn't fit either. Which I would have told you if you were not so quick on that keyboard of yours."

"If these suspects are too young to be suspects, why have the RCMP put the files in with this investigation? They are just bogging themselves down with extraneous information that gets in the way of solving the crime." Garcia looked over at the young genius.

"That's one reason we can eliminate so many so quickly. I think in a lot of ways they are just grasping at straws because they have no solid leads. Anyone with a criminal record could be a suspect and it could depend on people that came to their attention at the time a body has been found. They aren't sure if there is a serial killer or if these killings are by separate people and they don't want to take the chance of missing out on a suspect. They aren't profilers, so they aren't looking at the suspects the way we are," Reid spoke confidently. "I'll get these files up to Rossi and Hotch so they can start setting up interviews while you two start on the next batch."

As the suspect list was being weeded out, Morgan and Prentiss drove the highway, looking at the scenery, noting places an UnSub might use to hide, looking for secondary roads. Morgan finally turned into a small gas station with an attached diner. The two agents exited the vehicle and stretched. Morgan checked his cell phone and grimaced - no cell service. Grumbling, he followed Prentiss into the diner. Noting the phone just inside the door, he motioned to Prentiss. She handed over her spare change and headed to a nearby table. Luckily, Morgan managed to contact Hotch. After several minutes, he joined his partner.

"Garcia, JJ, and Reid are going cross-eyed." He smiled at the waitress as she poured the coffee. "Hotch and Rossi are re-interviewing suspects." He paused to sip the hot liquid. "We're close to the last dump site now and we're supposed to work from there – search the woods and the secondary roads, find cabins, that sort of thing. The Sergeant who found the body is meeting us here."

"We need the entire Canadian Army to search these mountains." Prentiss stared pensively out the window.

Morgan took the opportunity to look at his partner. He admitted to himself the attraction he felt towards her, but hesitated to suggest anything. He had told Reid the truth several years ago when he said he was careful not to date women who carried guns, but working with the brunette had weakened that resolution. He understood the reasons behind team relationships being frowned upon and he wasn't sure how he'd react if something happened to Prentiss in the line of duty if they started a relationship. He liked to believe that he would be as concerned over her welfare as he was with any other member of the team, without the concern overwhelming his duties; after all, most of the team had been in danger at one point or another and the concern was normal. Even Rossi had been concerned about Garcia when she had been shot and he hadn't known her that long.

Prentiss turned her head to look at Morgan. "You've gone quiet," she remarked with an eloquent raising of her eyebrow. Morgan was saved from answering when the door of the diner opened and two men walked in. One wore an RCMP uniform while the other looked like a rancher.

The RCMP officer greeted the waitress as he glanced around the diner, his eyes eventually falling on Prentiss and Morgan. Prentiss nodded.

He returned the greeting. "We'll take that coffee over here, Nancy," he called to the waitress, then extended a hand to introduce himself. "Sgt. Jesse Winthrop. This is Terry Grant from Search and Rescue. He has extensive experience in tracking throughout Canada."

As the two men sat down, Morgan asked, "You know we need to see the crime scene?"

Winthrop nodded. "That crime scene won't last much longer in this weather. The actual body was under the trees, but the path to the trees – well, with the wind, it's being covered with snow. I think that's why the bastard left her there. The weather will cover his tracks."

"Your forensics team took pictures, right?" Morgan's tone was sharper than he intended.

"Yes, Agent Morgan. We followed procedure." Winthrop's tone was cool.

"There were clearer prints around the body -" Grant started, but Prentiss jumped in, glancing between Morgan and Winthrop.

"No offense," she said, "But before we talk too much about it, we want to see the crime scene for ourselves. That way, we have no preconceptions."

Everyone gulped down the last dregs of their coffees and rose. Nancy handed Winthrop a thermos as he reached the till. "You stay warm out there, Jesse." She nodded at the others.

Following the squad car, the BAU agents soon reached the scene of the latest murder, still blocked off with yellow crime scene tape that snapped in the breeze. Both agents pulled their jackets closer to their bodies as they stepped from the SUV.

Prentiss frowned at the mess before them. The forensics team had trooped back and forth from the road to the trees, on lines parallel to the path noticed by Winthrop. They had stayed away from the path as much as possible, but even that looked compromised, both by the traffic and by the weather.

"Were you able to get any clear footprints from the path?" Morgan asked as he stepped along the route the other agents had made.

"Yes. One or two prints that looked pretty good," Winthrop confirmed.

Morgan nodded. They stopped at the edge of the trees where the snow was sparse and a thick carpet of dead leaves covered the area. "She was wrapped?"

"In a green tarp."

"What made you suspect anything?"

Winthrop shifted behind him. "The path to the trees. There's no reason for anyone to stop here. The only reason I stopped was because I had to ticket a speeder. The diner's just up the road. If anyone had car trouble, they wouldn't go into the trees, they'd start walking up the highway."

Morgan nodded again, crouching down under the tree. "There's not a lot of traffic here right now. When's the highest volume of cars? Would someone parked on the side of the road be suspicious?"

"During the day, maybe, unless..." Winthrop stopped.

Morgan turned. "Unless?"

"Unless it was an official vehicle," Winthrop admitted. "Forestry, RCMP, something like that."

"Not necessarily." Prentiss spoke calmly, her dark hair obscuring her face as the wind momentarily rose. "You're trained to notice suspiciously parked vehicles, travellers not so much. For one thing, travellers these days would be suspicious of stopping in case it was a trap, wouldn't want to get involved, or would just simply be in a hurry. They might think, like you mentioned, that the vehicle stopped on the side of the road meant someone had walked back to the diner for help due to car trouble."

Morgan stood, turning around. "There are no secondary roads here, no fire roads. I'd drop the body at night, when the traffic had died down. That would mean the UnSub needed the moon to see by, unless he was confident there would be no traffic and could turn his vehicle in that direction in order to use the headlights to guide him."

He looked around the crime scene again before continuing. "There are prints, but that path is wide enough for something to be dragged from the highway to the trees. That would help obliterate the footprints, unless he stumbled." Morgan noted Grant's nod.

"There was no indication of a difference in the footprints coming and going to suggest a difference in weight, which would support your theory," Grant mentioned.

"That we can tell," Morgan continued. "He places the body under the trees, walks back up the path he's made, and drives off. Again, whatever he used to drag the body could have been dragged behind him to obscure his footprints on the way back. Some sort of sled."

The two agents trudged back to the highway behind Winthrop and Grant. After reaching the highway, everyone returned to their respective vehicles and headed back to Prince George.

Once they returned to the police station, Morgan took Winthrop and Grant to meet Hotch and Rossi, who had been setting up a timeline and plotting dump sites on a large map, based on the files Reid and Garcia had decided closely matched victimology.

"This is Terry Grant," Morgan told them. "He's assisting the Mounties in trying to find more bodies. Winthrop tells me he's a 25 year veteran of the Alberta Search and Rescue team and an excellent tracker. We figure if we can find more bodies, it might help us find this bastard."

Hotch sized the man up. "You think you can find bodies in the winter?"

Grant shrugged. "In the wintertime it's more about finding patterns. I've been out at the latest scene looking at the tracks the man left behind. I'll be able to find him again."

Hotch's ears perked up. "Only one man? Are you sure?"

"Positive."

_Two Days Later_

The BAU team stood in the common room at the police station, looking around at the assembled officers. Clearing his throat, Rossi started, "We are looking for a white male, between the ages of 60 and 75; good health, good physical condition. He's someone who fits in, doesn't stand out in a crowd, and is familiar with the area and the communities along the highway. He is someone people would feel comfortable enough around that they would have no problem getting into a car with him. He probably is – or was – married, probably has children, probably travels that highway a lot. He has knowledge of law enforcement – this could mean he has been in prison or in the military or, in this area, the forestry industry. He is definitely an outdoorsman. We do not think that the race or occupation of the victim is a factor; these victims were opportunistic."

Hotch picked up the recitation, "We believe this man's stressors are a variety of things: his job, his marriage, his social interactions. He thinks he's underrated, ignored. He believes he doesn't get promoted because of disciplinary problems. He has a slow fuse, but when he loses his temper, it's very noticeable. These victims are the results of something that didn't go his way. In order to regain his control, he goes out, kidnaps a victim, and kills her."

One of the officers raised a hand. "Why the difference in victims and how he kills?"

Reid shifted his feet. "These are crimes of opportunity. The UnSub probably works in rural areas or commutes into the city which adds to his sense of isolation and the feeling of being ignored. His way of dealing with his stress is to drive the area he lives in, in this case the highway, until he finds someone. Whatever stresses him out has to be dealt with as soon as possible. He leaves no clues at the dump site, the tertiary scene, so he's killing somewhere else. Different weapons could be weapons of opportunity, depending on how the victim reacted, if they fought back, and how much they fought back. If the victim doesn't cooperate with the UnSub, he gets angry and reacts."

Morgan spoke up, "The victims could be part of a revenge fantasy and, if they fight, they are preventing that fantasy from being fullfilled. The length of time between the time of abduction to the time the body is found is more than likely spent in that fantasy. We need to figure out what that fantasy is."

Another officer waved for attention. "Why the time gaps?"

Reid warmed up to his subject. "The BTK killer admitted that the gaps in his killings were due to the fact that he had children and had to stay at home to look after them or, at least, be more active his home life in order not to make his wife suspicious. Our UnSub could have a similar reason; the almost ten year gap in the killings could mean he was helping raise a family. He'd want to try to keep a low profile."

Hotch interrupted, "Or it could be something simpler; he could have been in prison, out of the country. If he was in the military, he could have been posted overseas. Or the bodies just might not have been found yet."

"Rebecca Moreland was the only victim who was discovered who was not Canadian," Reid spoke up again. "She was on vacation, skiing in the mountains. We've traced her to a hotel in Prince George. She had arrived here from Banff two days before her disappearance. Her car was found in the parking lot of a restaurant close by. Her belongings were still at the hotel. Management contacted the police after she hadn't checked out. This points to opportunity; he's not concerned over whether his victims are Canadian or American, he doesn't stalk them. He grabs them as the need arises."

The assembly broke up after the men were given their orders for the day.

The agents gathered in the conference room after the briefing. "Morgan, Prentiss, you've been travelling the highway the last two days – what have you discovered?" Hotch idly drummed his fingers on the table.

Morgan leaned forward, dark eyes intent. "Most of the dump sites are just off the highway, just where the tree-line starts. He's got to know there's a path. That's the only pattern we've been able to find, but that doesn't help us with the bodies in the summer. There's no indication in any of the files that there's been a deliberate path too and from the body. The boot prints are from brands of heavy-duty boots issued to, among others, police officers."

Prentiss nodded. "He also doesn't dump the bodies near any secondary roads or fire roads, so we don't know where's he's killing his victims. He has to drive them out to the dump sites, which would leave him vulnerable to being stopped. That points to a vehicle that wouldn't be stopped."

"We're looking for a cop," Rossi stated bluntly.

Hotch glanced around the table. "Morgan, Prentiss, help Reid and Garcia look through the remainder of the files. We've narrowed it down. We have to get down further." The two agents nodded, rising and following Reid as he led them back to where Garcia had set up her temporary office.

The two newcomers looked at the boxes of files that lay scattered around the room. "How many more of these do we have to interview?" Morgan didn't look too happy at the prospect.

"Well, we've narrowed it down to about a hundred so far," Garcia's normally cheerful voice sounded daunted. "You going to stay and help us out today, hotstuff?"

"Anything for you, beautiful, you know that." Morgan flashed her a grin which faded as he once again looked at the boxes. "Might as well get started."

JJ had been helping Hotch and Rossi set up more interviews with suspects when one of the Mounties answered his phone. After speaking to the person on the other end of the line, he hung up and approached the agent. JJ nodded and rose from her seat. Sticking her head into the conference room where Hotch and Rossi were discussing the suspects they had already interviewed and looking over the list of suspects already set up for interviews, she spoke, "Another body has been found."

"Where?" Hotch looked up.

"Just outside of the city."

"Tell Morgan and Prentiss, get them to take Terry Grant, see what he's made of." Hotch and Rossi exchanged glances. They remained in the conference room as JJ left.

It took Winthrop under an hour to drive the agents and Grant out to the crime scene, midway between Vanderhoof and Prince George. The victim was a young girl, approximately 15 years old. She had been strangled.

Terry stayed out of the way of the BAU, both parties watching each other work as they studied the scene. The girl was dressed in ripped clothes, no jacket or gloves, one of her boots was missing. Grant had been asked to let the BAU look the scene over before he investigated and he had agreed, asking only that they tried not to trample down the area.

Prentiss hunched into her jacket. "Looks like he dumped the body; it's not even close to the tree line this time. It could mean that he panicked."

The agents moved away from the crime scene and watched as Grant looked over the scene. He paid close attention to the footprints. After several minutes he walked over to the Americans. "Same footprints. Work boots, deep treads that help him avoid sliding in the snow. The prints are deeper, so I'd say he carried the body here and dumped her. No signs of dragging."

Prentiss and Morgan nodded. Terry's assessment fit with theirs.

While the two younger agents studied the crime scene, Hotch and Rossi walked into Garcia's temporary office with a pile of folders. The analyst looked up at their approach.

"Garcia, look deeper into the men we talked to yesterday." Hotch handed her the files. "Focus on their stories, where they lived or worked around the time of each of the eighteen women we think were his victims disappeared or were found, eliminate anyone who isn't married or wasn't married."

Garcia's keyboard clicked. "Two men. Stewart MacIntosh, 68, retired from the RCMP in 2006, and William Phillips, 70, also retired in 2006, used to work in the forestry industry."

"Phillips." The frantic clicking sounds continued. "There was a deforestation problem in Latin America and a bunch of forestry workers went down there in 1984 to educate the people, fight the deforestation. He was detained there because of his activist activity, but was eventually released." A pause, presumably while she clicked onto another screen, "MacIntosh looks to have taken a leave of absence in 1984 and didn't come back to work until 1989."

"Phillips sounds like a possibility."

"Hmm. Maybe not. He spends most of his summers in the Bahamas according to his credit cards." Garcia hummed. "He definitely has the right idea."

"What about MacIntosh?"

"His first posting was in Williams Lake in 1969. In 1970, he was transferred to Hudson's Hope. In 1973, he was finally transferred to Clearwater where he met Catherine Dennis and they married in December of '74 in Terrace, where she was originally from. His records show that he worked a case in 100 Mile House that year. In 1978, he was transferred to Merritt and then, in '81, was transferred to Kamloops. In 1989 he was working in Prince Rupert where he was up on disciplinary charges. He was divorced in June of 1990. In '93, he was transferred to Burns Lake, and transferred back to Prince Rupert in 2005. He owns a cabin near Fraser Lake, where he seems to go as often as possible. If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say his disciplinary problems were the reasons for his transfers." Garcia glanced over at Hotch.

Hotch hit the speed dial button on his cell phone. "Morgan, I need you and Prentiss to check out a cabin at Fraser Lake. We think our suspect is Stewart MacIntosh."

Rossi and Hotch knocked on the door of a small house in the suburbs of Prince George. A plain-looking woman opened the door, holding a baby in her arms. The agents introduced themselves and asked to speak to Stewart MacIntosh.

"I'm his daughter, Lori, can I help?" The woman stepped back and invited the two men in. "He left this morning to go to his cabin for a few days."

"Can you tell us about your father?" At Lori's confused look, Rossi elaborated. "We are looking into the Highway 16 killings and we know your father was involved in the task force. We're interviewing all the police officers who had a connection to the cases. Do you know how many of the cases associated with Highway 16 he worked on?"

"I don't know. He didn't really talk about the cases much. I think he worked on a few, earlier. I know that, a couple of years ago, before he retired, he was working here with the task force. I think it was because he was familiar with the other cases."

"Did you notice a change in his behaviour whenever another body was discovered?" Rossi continued. Hotch sat back, content to let Rossi lead the questioning while he studied the woman before them.

"If he was working on the case, sure."

"You were born in 1983?" Hotch asked.

"1982."

"Did your parents ever talk about that being a stressful time for him?" Rossi took back the interview.

"Well, I was premature and my mom was ill after I was born. My dad actually had to take time off work. They were really worried for a couple of years about my health, even after my dad went back to work. There were lots of hospital visits, things like that. My lungs were weak because I was premature, so I had trouble breathing. By the time I was six or seven, we had it under control. I occasionally still have problems, but nothing major."

"Is your mother still alive?"

Lori looked puzzled at Hotch's question. "They divorced in 1990. She's living in Prince Rupert at the moment. She married a couple of years after the divorce. I go up to visit her as often as I can."

"Do you know where your father is now?" Rossi asked.

"He's probably at the cabin. It's near Fraser Lake. He likes fishing and the lake has some good sized trout." Lori looked at the two men in confusion.

"Even in the winter time?"

"Of course." Lori replied. At the agents confused look, she elaborated. "Ice fishing. At least that's what he tells me. I think he just goes there for the peace and quiet. Urban life tends to get to him. He likes the outdoors."

Hotch and Rossi rose from their seats. "Once last question," Rossi turned to look Lori. "Did you ever go with your father to the cabin?"

"No, as I said, he goes there to get away from everyone."

They thanked the woman for her time and walked back to the SUV. Hotch tried to reach Morgan on the cell phone again, but with the clouds gathering and the first snowflakes starting to fall, the reception was lousy. Hotch finally phoned the police station to ask them to patch him through the police car radio.

Terry Grant had asked to remain behind at the crime scene and said he'd get a ride back in with one of the other officers there. Winthrop had simply nodded and got into the car.

On the drive up, Morgan stared out the window at the overhanging clouds. "Interesting that MacIntosh didn't kill or kidnap people between March and May."

"Weather." Winthrop spoke matter-of-factly.

"Hmm?" Morgan prompted.

"We get all sorts of weather at that time of year. Changes from day to day - even different weather on the same day - snow, rain, warm temperatures, you name it. We have the lowest statistics for hitchhiking in that time frame."

"But he kidnaps from the cities as well, so the weather wouldn't be a factor," Prentiss pointed out from the back seat.

Winthrop brought the car to a stop and the three exited the vehicle, zipping up their parkas, and making sure their heads and hands were covered. "It's lousy weather to be looking for a suspect. I can't pull my gun if we come up on him," Morgan complained.

"You wouldn't be able to if your fingers were frozen either," Winthrop remarked dryly.

For the next ten minutes, the only sound that was heard was the crunching of the snow beneath their boots as they walked up the path towards MacIntosh's cabin. When they finally came through the trees into the small clearing and saw the building, Morgan turned to Winthrop. "Could you go back to town, meet up with Hotch and Grant when they get there, and bring them up here? Agent Prentiss and I are going to look around the cabin, see what we can find. We'll scout around the general area to get an idea of where he might have gone if he's not in there. Judging from the lack of smoke from the cabin, I'd say he isn't."

"Don't go too far. There's a storm coming up. I wouldn't be surprised if it hits before I get back to town."

"That's the other reason you need to go back. Hotch needs to know where we actually are if that storm hits and you are the best person to get back there down that road, since you're used to the weather conditions and the road. Just get them here as soon as you can."

The blizzard hit sooner than the agents had expected. They could only hope that Winthrop had managed to get back to the car and drive down the mountain before it started snowing.

They had already searched the area around the cabin – after ascertaining that the cabin itself was empty. The surrounding area was trampled down, with paths leading into the woods behind the cabin. They had ventured down the pathways, but the dropping temperatures and darkening skies worried them. Even with flashlights, they knew they wouldn't get very far in such weather. Frustrated, Morgan and Prentiss retraced their steps in the gloom, heading back towards the clearing to see the snow falling. They hurried into the cabin.

"Well, it's not as if there's much to search in this place." Prentiss glanced around the room, trying to see in the faded light. "We're stuck here during a snowstorm, with no power, no cell phone service, in a freezing little cabin that I doubt even has running water. We need to start a fire. I'd think the wood would be in that shed next to the cabin."

Morgan mock glared at her. "I suppose you want me to go back out there and get the wood?" Prentiss flashed a smile that, even in the dim light, looked forced.

Morgan frowned, his hand on the doorknob. "What's wrong, Prentiss? What's bugging you?"

Prentiss glared at him, obviously agitated and trying to get ahold of it. "We have a serial killer out there and we can't get to him because of this goddamned lousy weather. This whole place is probably a crime scene. And, we're going to be sitting where he probably kills his victims."

"He's probably holed up as well." Morgan shrugged. "It's winter. We're in Canada on a mountain in the middle of a forest. There's nothing we can do but try to stay warm. If we walked out that door, we wouldn't be able to see two feet in front of our eyes and would probably die of exposure."

"And how do you suggest we stay warm?" The mischievousness in Prentiss' voice could have raised the temperature in the cabin by several degrees as she quirked an eyebrow at Morgan.

Morgan gave her a saucy grin, although in the dim light, he wasn't sure if she could see it. "Well, I'll go get the wood, we can make a fire, sit down and share body warmth."

"That'll be cozy," Prentiss deadpanned.

"What? You expecting me to attack you, Prentiss?" Morgan feigned offense. "Find some blankets; I'll get the wood." He headed outside without waiting for a reply.

Prentiss shrugged to herself and went to the closet next to the bedroom area. Soon, Morgan was back and kneeling in front of the fireplace, briskly lighting a fire. He turned to see the pile of blankets and Prentiss staring at him.

Prentiss cleared her throat and gingerly sat down, staying away from Morgan, but slipping her legs under the blanket he held up for her. Morgan raised an eyebrow. He could feel the blankets move from Prentiss' shivering and reached out to tug on her arm. "You know, I can be a gentleman," he groused, half amused. "I'm not going to attack you."

Prentiss allowed herself to lean against Morgan's side and felt him adjust the blanket around her shoulders and the weight of his arm around her. There was silence for a few moments before Morgan spoke again. "We've been skirting around this for a while, you know..."

"Around what?" Prentiss didn't move, but she tensed.

"The attraction. Why are you so against us getting together?"

"We work together – the FBI have these things called rules – and if we start a relationship, I don't want it to screw up our teamwork."

"I think we're both adult enough to be able to deal with that."

"Like Hotch and Haley? Or Rossi and his three marriages?" Prentiss' voice was muffled.

"JJ and Will are making it work. So are Penelope and Kevin."

"Does this still discourage you, Derek?" Prentiss asked some time later.

"Hmm?" Morgan's voice was drowsy.

"You mentioned in Ontario how discouraged you were that, no matter what we do, no matter how hard we work, no matter how good we are at what we do, it's never gonna end. Now, here we are, looking for another serial killer who has gotten away with murder for 40 years." Prentiss shifted in a vain attempt to see Morgan's face.

"There are days when I go home exhausted, physically and mentally, because of what we do. There's no stop to the atrocities people inflict on each another. But I go home, I go to bed, and I think: 'If I give up, that's one more killer that won't be caught, one more criminal who is free to do what he wants.'" Morgan turned his head slightly. "I can get mad at the cops for not looking into missing people or crimes as closely as we want them to, but, at the same time, I know how thinly stretched their resources are. Cases are worked on according to priority and their solvability. Cases like these, like Mason Turner, they are full of people under the radar. They get pushed aside." He sighed. "The Hollow Man."

"What?" she asked.

"The Hollow Man and the Mill Creek Killer. We went on a case, just before you joined the team, where we had two UnSubs killing, each trying to outdo the other. One was killing prostitutes, the other was killing more 'socially accepted' victims. The mother of one of the prostitutes told Hotch that we wouldn't be investigating her death if not for the fact that the other woman had also been killed. She was right. Hotch was right as well. He told her we can't investigate if we don't know someone has been victimized." He sighed again. "They, the victims, need someone to tell their story. If we don't do it, who will? Who will take the time or the effort?"

Prentiss ran her hand soothingly across Morgan's chest. He shifted against the motion. Silence settled over the cabin and eventually, they fell asleep.

The morning dawned crisp and cold. The two agents had spent a restless night, waking every so often to feed the fire. It was noise that brought them to a fully awakened state, scrambling out of the blankets and checking their weapons.

"Morgan, Prentiss?" Hotch's voice called from outside.

Morgan walked over to the door and cracked it open. "Finally joining the party, Hotch?" He watched in tired amusement at the activity suddenly going on outside. Terry Grant was leading two horses into the clearing in front of the cabin.

"Horses?" Prentiss had joined Morgan and together, they stepped out onto the porch.

"How else are we going to search the area? We can't get vehicles up here and we'll get nowhere on foot. We need all the speed we can get. Agent Rossi tells me you ride, ma'am?" Terry addressed Prentiss and walked towards the cabin with the horses.

"Yeah. I learned when my mother was posted in Arabia." Morgan turned to look at her, surprise on his face. "What? I'm full of surprises."

"I'll need you to ride with me then, because when we find MacIntosh, we'll need law enforcement there."

"Okay." Prentiss nodded at the explanation. "How are we going to find any tracks after the blizzard last night?"

"Did you make a search of the area before the storm hit?" Grant questioned.

"A short one," Prentiss replied. "There was a path through the trees we were checking out."

"We'll start there. The trees would have provided a breaker so the snow fall shouldn't have been so heavy. We'll see what we can find." With that, Grant motioned Prentiss toward the horse.

Now that there was some light coming through the cabin windows, Morgan and Hotch started searching the cabin. Hotch had brought flashlights, so that helped them see in the corners. They also searched the clearing around the cabin. Morgan poked his head into the woodshed, noticing that it was emptier than he had thought the previous evening. The wood was stacked only in the area closest to the door; behind the pile, evident from the amount of wood missing, was an empty space. Using the flashlight, he shone the light around. There were stains on the floor that Morgan suspected were bloodstains. He backed out and turned to yell for Hotch.

Grant and Prentiss made slow tracks through the trees. The path they followed was wide enough for the horses to easily travel, but the two humans were trying to find tracks. Grant noticed some partly obscured tracks along the side of path where someone might have slipped in the snow. Eventually, they came to a small opening in the trees, large enough for a man to crouch down. The snow had been tamped down and there were exposed roots around a couple of the trees.

"He obviously stayed here last night. There's fresh tracks, so he hasn't been moving for long." Grant nudged the horse into a slow trot, moving down the track, his head bent close along the horse's neck, studying the trail. He called back to Prentiss, "What we're going to try to do is get around him and drive him back towards the cabin."

"Back towards Hotch and Morgan," Prentiss noted, cursing under her breath at the lack of ability to communicate the plan to the other members of her team.

Morgan stared at the man across the clearing. The stranger had abruptly appeared from a path close to the one the riders had taken and had froze at the sight of the FBI agent. Morgan reacted first, fumbling for his weapon with fingers hampered by gloves and the cold. The stranger whirled around and bolted back the way he had come. "MacIntosh! Stop! FBI!"

Morgan stumbled after MacIntosh, sliding in the snow in the process. The trees made it hard to get a clear shot. They broke through the foliage into a large open area. Morgan didn't hesitate, throwing himself forward, managing to tackle the older man. As they wrestled, Morgan heard a crackling sound. He didn't have time to react as the ground suddenly gave way beneath him and he was engulfed in freezing water.

Survival instinct made him break his hold on MacIntosh and struggle towards the surface, fighting the bone-freezing cold that was already sapping his strength and the weight of his clothes dragging him down. His head broke the surface, his lungs searing at the intake of fresh air. He dimly heard shouting as he fought to keep his head above water.

"The rope! Grab the rope!"

"Morgan!"

He managed to focus his eyes on the rope that had been thrown in his direction. Desperately he lunged for it, barely grasping it in freezing hands.

"Hold on! You have to hold on!" someone yelled.

Morgan barely felt himself being pulled out, the weight of the freezing water on his clothes hindering the rescue; his body shivered as it was exposed to the frigid temperatures. All movement stopped and he felt hands pummelling him. He tried to struggle, but his body was sluggish.

"Stop it! Stop fighting me!" Terry Grant's voice yelled in his ear. "We've got to get you dry. The snow is absorbing the water, but you have to let me do this! Stop fighting!"

"Morgan! It's okay!" _Hotch_? Morgan thought fuzzily as a roaring sound echoed in his ears and everything went black. _How did Grant get here?_

Morgan first became aware of the fact that he felt warm and then the low beeping of some machine could be heard. Opening his eyes, he frowned at the dimness of the light.

"And the sleeping beauty awakes."

He slowly turned his head to see Prentiss curled up in a chair next to the bed.

"Smithers General Hospital," she told him. "Search and Rescue airlifted you out just after you lost consciousness. You were lucky. If Grant hadn't been right behind you, you'd probably have died from exposure. That's what you get from jumping into a frozen lake in minus fourty degree weather."

Morgan looked puzzled. "Lake?"

"Yeah. You tackled MacIntosh on a frozen lake. The weight of the two of you caused you to break through the ice." Prentiss tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Where's MacIntosh?" Morgan shifted on the bed.

"Search and Rescue are still out there. No other tracks besides ours. We think he's at the bottom of the lake. They will probably have to wait until spring to drag the lake and recover the body."


End file.
